Philadelphia Phillies: Don’t Give Up on the Phightins Just Yet

As a Philadelphia fan, we all know disappointment.  As far as disappointments go, the 2012 Philadelphia Phillies have been about as disappointing as it gets.  

They entered the All-Star break at 37-50, 12.5 games out of the wild-card spot.  They endured injuries that further exposed holes in the roster, as well as a bullpen that imploded on an almost nightly basis.

Ryan Howard was out.  Chase Utley was out.  Roy Halladay went down.  Jimmy Rollins and Shane Victorino continued to annoy with first-pitch pop-ups.  Hunter Pence swung the bat with reckless abandon.  Cliff Lee couldn’t win a game.  Cole Hamels has been discussed all season as trade fodder.

It was a brutal first half that became almost impossible to watch.  I actually stopped watching because I got no joy out of it and too much misery.  

Then the All-Star break happened.

For whatever reason, I became rejuvenated during the break.  I calculated over and over that they’d need a .707 winning percentage in the second half to win 90 games.

It was almost impossible, but in the second half they would actually be the Phillies.  Our Phillies.  Chase and Howard would be back to ease the burden on role players like Shane and Pence.  Halladay would be back.  

There was still a chance.

When Lee blew the first game of the second half, it felt over, but the team didn’t allow that to be the end.  They won the next four games.  

After dropping three straight, they’ve now won the last three in improbable and exciting fashion.

You see, for those of us born between the late 1970s and early 80s, this group of Phillies gave us the only championship we know.  They’ve given us five consecutive postseasons.  

Yes they have failed to win another World Series since 2008, but the point is, they did win a World Series.  They gave us reason to believe they could win another one.

Well now is the time to still believe.  Even if the playoffs prove unattainable in 2012, the Phillies have become fun again.

The first half was a case of everything that could go wrong did go wrong.  The second half is playing out much differently.  There is life there now.  There is belief.  The joy is back.

In Philadelphia, when things are going well, these players become out extended family.  We get to know them.  We get to love them.  

When things go bad we get upset with them, especially when they disappoint us.  They are ready to turn it around and they are trying to pull us all back in.

They deserve us being on board.  These are our guys.  For the first time as Phillies fans, we have our own guys.  Don’t give up now.

Jimmy, Shane, Chase and Ryan.  Cole, Doc and Clifton Lee.  These guys have given us a lot.  They have more to give.

Some people are ready to blow the whole thing up and start anew, but there is still a window for this group.  It’s time to keep that window propped open.  If they don’t win another one together, it shouldn’t be us that closed the window on them.

Maybe Cole will be traded.  Maybe Shane and Pence will be as well.  Maybe they won’t.  Maybe this team is about to play .700 baseball the rest of the way en route to 89 wins and the second wild-card spot.

Either way, this group has given us a lot and the right thing to do is give them all we have as well.  They may not get it done, but they just might.

In their last 10 games, they are 7-3, which is a .700 winning percentage.  All they have to do is keep it up.  We owe it to them to believe that they can.

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Philadelphia Phillies: Harry Kalas, Thank You for Touching My Life

Yesterday was the third anniversary of the day Philadelphia lost the great Harry Kalas.  It was a devastating day for Phillies fans and a day none of us will ever forget.  I was asked by a reader to post an article I wrote on the day of Harry’s memorial service at Citizen’s Bank Park.

Here is the piece I wrote on that most memorable of days:

I know I’m a little behind in the cycle to be writing an article about Harry Kalas, but I definitely feel it is important to write, even if only for myself.

To anyone who reads what I write regularly, you may have noticed that I rarely ever use the words “I” or “me”.  I feel like we are all writing our own opinions on here, so why should I make any of my statements about me?

Well, this time, I’m going to break that rule.  Harry Kalas meant a lot to me, as he meant a lot to most Philadelphians.  For most of us, he has been a part of every Phillies memory we have ever had.

Probably the most amazing thing about Harry is not how many years he did it, or the fact that he was a Hall of Famer.  It is probably the fact that he announced all those years for teams that were generally pretty bad, and he still made it so enjoyable.

I was born in 1979, so my memory is from about 1986 through now.  If you think about formative years, growing up, generally you would think about ages 6-21.  For me, that would be the 1986 season through the 2000 season.

Over that time, the Phillies had a winning record just twice and reached the playoffs only once.  They finished in  last place and lost over 90 games six times.  It was an awful time to be a Phillies fan, but you know what?  I still remember it fondly.

I remember it fondly mostly because of Harry Kalas.  He was a treat to listen to and one of the most fun people to try to imitate.  Through those years, Harry Kalas was the Phillies.

I remember going to Business Person’s Specials with my uncle Don and my cousins.  We would generally watch the team lose, but we would always listen to the postgame show in the car specifically to hear Harry’s calls on the more memorable plays.

Maybe it was two-run double by Juan Samuel, or a “grand slam home run” by Kim Batiste.

Even as a 21-year-old, I would still do that. 

I’ve been lucky to be an Eagles season ticket holder since 2000.  I have the tickets with the same two cousins I used to go to those Phillies games with. 

As much as we love Merrill Reese, I can never remember us racing to the car to hear Reese make a call.

Kalas was so integrated into the fabric of Phillies fans that, in a movie about Mike Schmidt’s quest for 500 career homers, there was an entire scene dedicated to fans and players giving their rendition of how Harry would call that historic “long drive”.

Beyond just the memories of the games and the highlights and commentating whiffle ball or bounce pitch games in Harry’s voice, I have one more special memory.

I’m sure most people remember when Who Wants to be a Millionaire? first became popular.  My parents and sisters and I would all sit around and watch it, all trying to answer all the questions.

One particular question was “What is it called when two baseball games are played in succession?”  I don’t remember all of the choices, but aside from the correct term “double header” there was one that stood out to me.

Dutch treat. 

I don’t know why, but I just started, in my very best attempt at Kalas’ unique voice and style: “Here we are at Veterans Stadium for the second game in today’s Dutch Treat.  The Phightin’s took the first game on an RBI double by Mick-eee Mor-an-DEE-NEEE.”

Everyone in the house was cracking up and I was quite proud of myself.  Naturally, like most little things in life, I eventually forgot about it. 

Then, on the day my mom passed away, my dad handed me and each of my three sisters a bundle of photocopied papers with our name on it.  It was a journal my mom started keeping after she was diagnosed with cancer.

She had a section for each of us, and the majority of mine were about how, even though I had sort of lost my way, she had faith that I would figure things out and be everything she thought I could be.

But then, I came upon an entry from Nov. 20, 1999.  The entry closed with this:

“Share what you have to offer with the world.  Don’t hide it.  As I’m writing this I keep thinking about how hard you made me laugh over the “Dutch Treat.” Keep us laughing, you’re great at it.”

That little goofy moment imitating Harry, something we have all done hundreds of times, turned out to be a special and lasting memory that my mother had of me before her life ended.

I felt strange all week hearing the stories about Harry, and thinking about my own memories of Harry, that I hadn’t cried once.  Well today, that changed.

I watched the tribute at Citizen’s Bank Park and I cried my eyes out.  Hearing Michael Jack Schmidt speak.  Hearing his son speak.  Hearing “High Hopes” one more time.

Harry, I know my memories are no more unique than anyone else’s, but you truly were a treasure.  We are all lucky for having had you be in our living rooms or our cars as often as you were.

We will never hear you call another game or see you taking part in another victory celebration, but we will never forget you.

Thank you, Harry Kalas, for doing what you did for us.  You weren’t just a play-by-play announcer.  You were a guest in our homes, and you were part of our families.  You were the best, Harry, and we will never, ever forget you.

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